After dad died, I took a couple of years off to write poetry. Wound up working on a machinery line with this company. Written during a smoke break.
Industrial Night -- no moonlight
a steady drum, a low roar, a chemical hiss, screeching air, a pneumatic kiss
whose mechanical caress sets the mind free
the crickets outchirp
the train's rolling
steel and whistle assault
the still evening.
All the twinkle is gone.